


sweet nothings

by valety



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Baking, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Other, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:38:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6668086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valety/pseuds/valety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asriel likes to bake. Chara likes it too, but for slightly different reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sweet nothings

**Author's Note:**

> this is gay and has no plot. if there’s a plot, it’s “they kiss a lot and are G A Y”
> 
> in retrospect this has what could be considered slight foodplay so I mean like if that bothers you then maybe don't read it

You can’t bake. Or rather, you _choose_ not to bake. It’s too much of a hassle, honestly, being a messy, fidgety, finicky sort of hobby that requires far more patience and precision than you’re willing to spare. The one time you tried to without supervision, your cake came out black and smelling of burnt sugar, and that was all the encouragement you needed to give up on the endeavour entirely.

That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy _other_ people’s baking, though. So when you walk into the kitchen and find Asriel flipping through one of Toriel’s recipe books—a particularly tattered one, clearly beloved and well-used—it’s all you can do to keep yourself from clapping in excitement the way Frisk does.

“Howdy, Chara,” Asriel greets when he catches sight of you. He gives one of his soft little smiles, fingers rippling in a tiny wave.

“What are you making?” you ask.

“I’m not sure yet,” he replies. “Craving anything?”

“Chocolate,” you answer firmly, walking to the refrigerator. You’d only gone into the kitchen to get some milk, but upon pouring yourself a glass, you hoist yourself up onto the countertop.

“Okay, okay,” Asriel says with a chuckle. “How do brownies sound? Those are pretty easy to make.”

You take a sip of milk and give him a thumbs up. Asriel sets the recipe book down upon the counter, leaving it open to the page on brownies.

Baking is a relatively new hobby for Asriel. All three of you enjoy desserts, but he never seemed to feel the need to learn how to make them himself, having grown up in a household where baked good simply _happened._ Meanwhile, you’re an absolute disaster in the kitchen and Frisk only seemed to care about whether or not the food available was edible, sparing little consideration for the preparation process. Baking simply hadn’t been area of interest for any of you, but then Asriel’s therapist had suggested working in the kitchen as a way of relieving stress—one that wasn’t dependent on the weather, the way gardening was—and he’d asked Toriel for lessons. She’d been delighted to help, of course, and over the next few weeks, she and Asriel had spent hours upon hours going over everything there was to know about the art of dessert-making.

You’d worried at first that baking was purely a stress thing for him, and for a while, that had made it harder to enjoy. As much as you enjoyed sampling the bread and pie and cookies Asriel made, they became much harder to swallow when you found yourself considering the emotions that went into them. If working in the kitchen was meant to help him relax, then just how much was he still struggling if he needed to do it _this_ much?

But then one day, Asriel had asked you to sample a slice of chocolate cheesecake that he’d made, and upon hearing you pronounce it heavenly, he’d smiled bashfully and said, “I’m glad” with a particularly gentle look in his eyes.

 _Oh,_ you’d thought before immediately choking.

Since then, Asriel’s baking fits had ceased to be a cause for alarm for you, instead becoming a cause for excitement. Particularly when he opted for a tried-and-true classic such as brownies.

“You look very handsome in that,” you report as you watch him tie on his apron. It’s the one that you and Frisk had bought him when he’d started cooking in earnest; olive green, with a small, crooked red heart stitched onto the pocket, courtesy of one of Frisk’s more sentimental moments.

Asriel snorts dismissively. You shrug. You’re not going to insist if he doesn’t believe you, but it’s not like you’re lying. He’d realize that if he ever bothered looking in a mirror properly.

Then again, _cute_ might be a better word than _handsome._ You can’t say for sure; Asriel frequently blurs the line between the two, given how simultaneously tall and muscular and soft and fluffy he is. Still, whatever it is that you’re supposed to call him, it’s something that makes you want to trip and climb on top of him so that you can kiss his stupid face and take a nap right there on his chest.

As Asriel begins removing random items from the cupboards, you snatch up the cookbook and skim the list of the ingredients. He remembers all the basics, like butter and eggs and cocoa powder, but you have to remind him to get honey and vanilla extract as well. Then, once everything is organized on the counter in a tidy little row, you lean over to preheat the oven for him.

“You’re so helpful,” Asriel say with a smile, and you stick your tongue out at him, prompting him to laugh, lean forward, and kiss you.

It’s a nice enough kiss, but after a few seconds, you let your hand drop to his tail, giving it a sharp tug. Asriel yelps and pulls away, wearing a betrayed expression.

“Get back to work,” you say as sweetly as possible. Asriel pouts. He still obeys, though, because he is a Good Boy.

Asriel greases and flours the pan with an efficiency that you decide is incredibly attractive.

You can’t say that, of course. If you do, he’ll just assume you’re being facetious, as opposed to genuinely trying to express your admiration for how skilfully he conducts himself in the kitchen.

When baking, Asriel moves with a sparse, controlled sort of grace, not wasting a single movement as he tackles all the steps necessary for the perfect tiramisu (or whatever his current project is). He _flows,_ is the thing, and you think that might be part of why you enjoy watching him so much.

Unfortunately, you’ve yet to figure out how to say that without sounding sarcastic.

Since you can’t compliment him openly, you try coming up with some sort of innuendo instead and succeed only in grossing yourself out.

Eventually, as Asriel is cracking an egg against the side of the bowl, you settle for, “I like the way you handle those eggs.”

“You like the way I...break them?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

You waggle your own eyebrows flirtatiously. Asriel grins and passes you the eggshells. You take them eagerly, crumbling them in your fist. There’s something wonderfully satisfying about cracking them.

For a while, the two of you are silent, the only sounds in the room being the scrape of a spoon against a metal bowl and the quiet shuffling of Asriel’s feet. You keep your eyes fixed on him, silently admiring the confidence with which he adds this and that and stirs. It’s almost enough to make you want to try baking again yourself.

As though reading your mind, Asriel passes you the bowl, instructing you to hold it still so he can mix the batter. This is ostensibly to give you something to do other than sit on the counter and make half-assed, semi-lewd remarks. You don’t mind, mostly because this provides you with a very nice view of his very nice arms. The mixer is too loud for you to make any wisecracks while he works, but you smirk as suggestively as possible to make up for it. Asriel appears to be trying very, very hard to ignore you, but judging from the way he bites his lip, he’s not succeeding very well.

“Let me taste the batter,” you demand when Asriel begins to pour it in the pan.

“No,” he says firmly. “You’ll get salmonella poisoning.”

“You don’t even know what that _is.”_

“No, but mom says it all the time and it sounds pretty serious. It has such a gross name, too. _Salmonella.”_ He shudders.

Ignoring him, you hop off the counter and swipe a finger into the mix. You lick it, then wipe the finger on his cheek. He squeaks, as though he’s still a little boy and not a grown-ass goat man.

“Chara, don’t be _gross,”_ Asriel whines, wiping his face.

You snicker. “Come on, like you’re in any position to be worried about my germs,” you tease, lightly pinching his cheek. “And for the record, it tastes _very good.”_

You dip your finger into the mix once more, stealing another swipe. This time, however, instead of tasting it yourself, you impulsively hold your finger out to Asriel.

“Try it,” you command.

Asriel falls still, looking so startled that you half-expect him to start stammering and blushing something about how you can’t treat him like a baby anymore. But then his eyes rake over you in contemplation, and suddenly he’s leaning forward, wrapping his mouth around your fingertip.

You almost yelp in surprise. Fortunately, you manage to remain silent despite the sudden blush that rises on your cheeks.

When Asriel pulls away, he’s grinning.

“You’re right,” he says. “It _is_ good.”

“Well, _some_ one’s feeling cocky today,” you say in a feeble effort to save face. Asriel chuckles.

Finally, the pan is slid into the oven and the timer is set.

“There,” Asriel says, sounding satisfied as he shuts the door. “Now we wait. It should take about half an hour."

“Half an hour?” you repeat. You’re once again sitting on the countertop, swinging your legs, letting your ankles thump against it rhythmically. “What are we gonna do for half an hour?”

And then Asriel’s in front of you, fencing you in with his arms.

“Clean up, maybe?” he suggests with a smirk.

“Lemme guess. I have chocolate _aaalll_ over my face,” you say dryly, trying to ignore how hot the face in question has become.

He laughs, softly, and then he curls a hand around your neck and pulls you towards him. The kiss is almost unbearably sweet, but then he breaks away and his tongue flicks out and laps at the chocolate on the corner of your mouth.

"Oh, Asriel, _disgusting,"_ you cry, pushing him away, but despite yourself, you’re smiling.

"You're so cute," he says happily, and then he leans in for another kiss.

You spend the entire thirty minutes that the brownies are baking pawing at each other. You have to keep it fairly family friendly, considering your location—you don’t want to have to make any awkward explanations to Frisk, should they suddenly return—but you’re still fairly breathless when the timer finally goes off, prompting Asriel to break away and check on the brownies.

The entire kitchen smells like warmth and Asriel and chocolate. It’s a rich, heady scent, and if you could, you’d bottle it up for all those grey, rainy days where you want nothing more than to bask in the luxurious aroma of home.

Asriel places the tray of brownies on the stove, then goes to remove the bowl of frosting from its hiding place on top of the fridge. He’d put it there to keep it out of your reach. For that, you’ll hold a grudge for at least a week, but you’ll let him make it up to you in whatever creative way he devises.

(A guilty pleasure of yours: pretending to be upset over something inconsequential so that you can coerce Asriel into making it up to you.)

(He’s very, very good at apologizing.)

(God, _whatever._ As if he doesn’t do the exact same thing in his own sneaky little way.)

“Not yet,” Asriel says, swatting your hand away when you try to be sly and steal an early piece while his back is turned. You groan as loudly as you can, but decide to let him get on with his frosting. They’ll be even better once they’re actually finished, you decide, no matter how badly you may want to try one now.

“Go wait in the living room,” Asriel says. “I’ll bring you a piece.”

“Bring me forty.”

“You can have _two._ We need to save some for Frisk and dessert.”

You give his tail another tug, because that tail has been your favourite target of abuse ever since his ears became too difficult for you to reach. He flicks the frosting-coated knife at you in retaliation, spraying you with little flecks of chocolate, and you feel so stupidly cheerful that you practically skip out of the kitchen.

Your knitting is still lying on the sofa where you abandoned it nearly an hour ago. You guess there wasn’t really that much risk of it disappearing, seeing as how Frisk is out today and not around to hide it, but you’ve been conditioned to expect to find it missing after having lived so long with a would-be prankster.

You take your knitting back to your room. When you return, you find Asriel in the living room, already eating a brownie. A plate with what you presume to be your share lies waiting on the table and you practically dive for it.

As always, Asriel’s baking tastes wonderful. Your first bite is rich and moist and probably contains illegal levels of fudginess; the entire piece is gone in seconds. Fortunately, Asriel kept his word and brought you two, meaning that you still have one left to savour.

“How is it?” Asriel asks, as though he doesn’t already know. “Be honest.”

The dummy’s probably fishing for compliments, so you say, “I’m gonna have to dock a few points for the lack of any fun surprise ingredients, like walnuts.”

Asriel sighs, faux-disappointed. “I don’t suppose _love_ would count as a fun surprise ingredient,” he says without missing a beat.

“Absolutely not,” you reply. “Because that’s just a given at this point. Hardly a surprise.”

He smiles like that’s a perfect answer, and suddenly you’re worried that he’s going to try and kiss you again. You don’t _mind_ Asriel kissing you, of course, but you think it’s probably your turn to be the one who does the kissing around here.

You also want to finish your brownie, though.

A compromise occurs to you.

You break off a piece of your remaining brownie and hold it out to Asriel, saying, “Eat.” He complies after but a split-second of hesitation, and then _you’re_ the one who’s leaning forward, pressing your mouth firmly against his.

He tastes exactly like chocolate. Thus, on a scale of 1 to 10, you’d rank the kiss about a 17.

The two of you share the rest of your brownie that way, alternating between giving Asriel a piece, eating one yourself, and kissing. At least, you do until you press your mouth against his ear and whisper, _“Isn’t that delicious?”_ , prompting Asriel to push you off the couch. But you’re laughing, not to mention feeling warm and full, and Asriel is too, so even though the kissing came to an abrupt end, you’d still consider it a satisfactory afternoon overall.


End file.
